


After the Fall

by TheUnwellWellie



Series: Assorted We Happy Few Fanfiction [1]
Category: We Happy Few (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Gen, Multi, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21692176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUnwellWellie/pseuds/TheUnwellWellie
Summary: The general is hard pressed to face the realities, and find food for his soldiers, whilst looking for his daughter, Victoria, who is hard at work with a bobby, by the name of Armistead, to salvage whatever is left of the people of Wellington Wells, and get to the mainland. Meanwhile, in said utopia, Arthur, Sally, and Ollie must all try and find their way, and life in post-war England is not as easy as they dreamed.
Relationships: Anton Verloc/General Byng, Arthur Hastings/Ollie Starkey/Sally Boyle, General Byng/Sergeant Oldcastle, Victoria Byng/Bobby
Series: Assorted We Happy Few Fanfiction [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587958
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	1. Ravensholm

**Author's Note:**

> I personally have been obsessed with Wellington Wells, and just really needed to write this story, I know it's been a little bit since We All Fall Down, but it's been percolating in my brain. Anyway, I've never posted before, but I hope you enjoy the story! It's set after We All Fall Down, and treats everything that happened in it as canon, I also tried to keep this fic canon as much as I could, cause that's what I wanted to write. :)

#  After the Fall 

The general had been absent from the Victory Memorial Camp for a few days, and during that time, Corporal Hardy had noticed their prized boat going missing, which he thought a very odd occurrence, then when he did appear, he was missing his hat, and had an eyepatch, which none of the men in the camp dared question, and more than that, he seemed to be pondering some deep issue, which he was wrestling with, and didn’t settle right with him. Sergeant Oldcastle knew him better than any of the other men in the camp, and knew the general’s moods like the back of his hand, often now he would come in the general’s office, and find him sitting with his chin resting on his fist, and find one of the Lee Enfields resting on his desk, closer than he normally kept it. This had been happening for three days now, and Oldcastle finally decided to speak. 

“General, sir,” he said, pulling his lanky, sixty year old form tight, as he gave a high salute, “it would seem there is some deep issue troubling you, and I just wanted to inform you that in case you ever wanted any advice, you could come to me sir, not that I would be able to come up with anything near what that tactical mind of yours could produce, but you’ll always have my steadfast support, sir!” he said, bringing down his salute, and keeping both his hands behind his back, shifting on his tiptoes restlessly. For a few moments, the general did nothing, before he sighed deeply, and sat back in his cushioned swivel chair, swinging it around to face Oldcastle directly, that deathly-cold stare he had had always given Sergeant Oldcastle the shivers, but with only one eye, and a brown-leather eyepatch on the other, it was nearly intolerable. 

“You know Oldcastle, I believe it is high time I brief the men on this ‘issue’, as you put it, the rest of them are going to find out soon enough anyway, perhaps they already have,” he said, swiveling back round, to look out the window of his office, and then at the map of Great Britain that hung on his wall, wistfully. 

“Shall I call roles, sir?” Oldcastle asked nervously, still shifting on the balls of his heels. Once again, the general thought for some time. 

“Yes, I believe you should, they have finished lunching, haven’t they?” 

“Yes, sir,” Oldcastle gave another salute as he literally turned on his heels, and put a hand on the doorknob, exiting with two long strides, and closing the door behind him. The sun was at its midpoint, and Sergeant Oldcastle quite enjoyed it shining upon his skin, it was mid-autumn, now, and the weather was certainly cold, but none of the men at the Victory Memorial Camp minded. It was an interesting effect, that the general had on these men- one that a doctor from Hamlyn village, or poor old Harry Haworth would’ve liked to study- it was as though they were on Joy, of course they wore their masks, but the all consuming, all intoxicating drug did not find its way out to Ravensholm, pills nor water. But yet their commander, General Byng, kept them on their toes, they were happy all the time, not from Joy, but because they had a deep sense of purpose under his command, they were soldiers, and they were born to serve. They didn’t care how awful the world outside had become, what terrible men lie in wait in Hamlyn village, tales of Foggy Jack, and what Anton Verloc had turned Haworth laboratories into reached Ravensholm, but these men were unaffected by them, because they knew their general would stand up to the unjust system, if ever it dared to peak its head above cover. 

But sadly, a soldier’s comfort in his commander’s integrity is a drug like Joy, Byng had intoxicated the men as Joy had done to the population of the village, he told them everything was alright, when it wasn’t- exactly like Joy did. These old soldiers had faith in promises made to them twenty years ago that never came true, like the population of Hamlyn Village.


	2. Sergeant Armistead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A red bobby by the name of Sergeant Armistead finds himself in a precarious situation between the tigress, Miss Byng, and a colleague of his, in the midst of a collapse of Hamlyn Village.

Sergeant Armistead was a “red bobby,” and he happened to be a sergeant, as well, those two things placed him above all other bobbies in Wellington Wells, except for the white bobby, of course. Red bobbies were usually assigned to shops throughout the village, as security, and that was what had happened to Sergeant Armistead. Some two years ago, he had been assigned to Miss Crawford’s little shop on the corner. It was the last building on the right before the bridge to the holm of Uskglass, she, and by extension her bobby pet, saw all the doctors, Victoria Byng, sometimes even Anton Verloc, walking right by the front door of the shop. 

One day, while Sergeant Armistead stood silently, grinning, as he always did, a regular constable came in. To any normal person, the constables and sergeants were all indistin guishable from each other, but they had a strange sixth sense that allowed them to tell each other apart, almost by smell. 

“Constable Constable,” Sergeant Armistead said, tipping his shiny red hat to Constable Constable. 

“Sergeant. Miss Crawford, I’ve come to inform you that it may be best to go home for tea, there is a danger-” he cleared his throat, after his voice cracked, not something often heard in a bobby’s voice, “pardon me, there is a downer whose current location is unknown, that the good constables would like to have a chat with, and she has put on the clothes and mask of Miss Byng, it would seem she thinks there’s a costume party,” he laughed dryly, trying to hide the obvious worry in his voice. Sergeant Armistead understood the true gravity of his statement, he had heard the rumors going around at the station the past night, that Victoria Byng had gone downer, Blackberry allowed the bobbies to process information like a normal human being, and yet also be more happy. 

“Ah, of course, thank you for the invitation to retirement, Constable Constable, a tea break sounds very pleasant, doesn’t it now, Miss Crawford?” Sergeant Armistead said, and at once Miss Crawford’s slender mask was smiling, and she nodded her head. 

“Indeed, that sounds lovely, Constable, would you like to join us?” 

“Uh, no, ma’am, I’m afraid duty calls, but some other time,” he said, nonchalantly, as he tipped his hat once more, and turned round, about to walk out the wooden door, before a great noise struck through the air, and Haworth Labs came into view, which it normally wasn’t, the whole building, the gray eyesore which had defined the holm of Uskglass for so many years was crashing to the earth face down! Constable Constable immediately jumped back, and put out his arm, in anticipation of shrapnel. Miss Crawford simply watched in awe, she was of course on normal Joy, and all seemed well to her, but this was an odd occurrence, they must’ve thought Haworth Labs looked too boring, and they were tearing it down to remodel. Sergeant Armistead simply took a step back, his large form almost faltering, and before any of them knew it, the huge concrete corner of Haworth Labs came crashing through the roof of the shop, and shattered the glass in the windows, hitting the floor, and shaking the ground beneath them, the very plates of the earth, violently. Sergeant Armistead dove at Miss Crawford, jumping in front of her and putting his arms out, before the crash made both of them fall backwards, he was able to stand, and helped her up, then saw Constable Constable, simply standing there, frozen in place, covered in plaster, and dust, he slowly turned around. He lifted up his gloved hand, and pulled a shard of glass from it, breaking the calm silence by chuckling. It was the chuckle of a madman, one who had expected this punishment for all the sins he’d committed in his life. He threw the shard to the floor, and looked down at his trunk and legs, which were also stuck in with glass shards, from the now nonexistent windows. The front of the building was no more, it was replaced by the Haworth Labs building, they were almost trapped inside, had the building fallen one foot further, but there was enough room just to slide out. 

“Cor blimey! Constable, are you alright?” Armistead asked, eyes wide with disbelief. This most recent development shattered his sanity almost, everything just broke, he was no longer happy, he had no idea what he was. 

“Yes, yes. I suppose they decided to reconstruct Haworth labs, eh, Armistead?” he got out, barely holding back the laughter that followed it, making him double over in hysteria. Sergeant Armistead smiled, and crossed his eyebrows, in confusion, but didn’t laugh, somewhat disturbed by Constable’s outburst. He looked back to the much smaller woman behind him, standing there, looking perplexed. 

“I suppose they decided it was too ugly, and they wanted to remodel it, but I really don’t see what’s so funny, Constable.” He fell to the floor laughing at this, that she truly thought they were just remodeling. After ten seconds, he was finally able to contain himself, and got up, wiping a tear from his eye. 

“Aye, that’s rich. That. Is. Rich. Alright, Armistead, let’s have a look outside, shall we? While the lovely mistress waits in here.” 

“That sounds like a pleasant time!” Armistead said, cheerfully, already returning to his senses, realizing it was not smart to reveal any concern whatsoever to either of his compatriots he currently found himself stuck with. Constable led, inching his way out through the crack, it was lucky bobbies were fit, otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to squeeze through, but he did alright. While Armistead was trying to get through, he heard the man whisper, “bloody hell!” Armistead squeezed through, and saw what had to be Victoria Byng’s coattails, standing, facing a crowd of people, very angry people, while they heard a television over head. 

“Stop taking your Joy! The food’s run out! Do you hear me? The food’s run out, take it from Uncle Jack! Jack Worthing, that’s me!” The policemen paid no attention to it at first, looking at Miss Byng instead. They approached her back, slowly, while the crowd in front of her dispersed. Sergeant Armistead, having authority over Constable Constable, dismissed him, and approached her first, apprehensively, with his arms out, like you might a wild animal. 

“Miss Byng?” She whipped her head around, and drew her whip, threatening him with it. 

“I’ve just brought down Haworth Laboratories, and all its doctors, along with half your constabulary, i’ll kill you too!” She shouted, in violent rage, swinging her whip to and fro. 

“Miss Byng, we simply want to help, I’m Sergeant Armistead, and this is Constable Constable. Now, what exactly has caused this?” he said, nodding his head towards the wreckage. 

“The people had to stop taking their Joy!” She yelled over the television, saying the same thing. Constable Constable looked up. 

“Armistead, Uncle Jack’s says the food’s run out, what do you fancy that?” he said with a sneer. 

“If Uncle Jack says it, it must be true, right?” Sergeant Armistead asked, half to himself, half to Constable Constable. 

“Yes, it’s true, that tape’s old, they never broadcasted it, because it was too real, but it was Ollie Starkey, the old Scottish sergeant, who broadcasted it, him and old Johnny Bolton, who we all thought were both mad! But they were the only ones making any sense around here!” Victoria said. Armistead said nothing, he was beginning to get it. 

“There haven’t been any kids round here in a long time, have there?” he asked solemnly, looking back up at Victoria, his mask no longer smiling. She simply shook her head, as if about to cry. He tore off his mask, and threw it to the ground. “I’ll follow Uncle Jack, and you, Miss Byng,” he said, planting his feet firmly on the ground, and taking off his hat, and holding it to his chest, a salute among bobbies. 

“I don’t want to go around commanding bobbies, but if you must, what our duty is, is to rescue as many people as we can, that’s all that matters now, not Doctor Verloc, not my father, not downers, Indian, English, constable or not, just save who you can, alright?” at first there was a weakness in her voice, as she lowered her whip, a sadness, but as she rallied the sergeant, her voice grew in immensity, it was now strong, that of a leader’s voice. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Armistead said, without hesitation. Constable Constable had a look of scornful hatred, he stepped forward, just about the same height as the sergeant, yet towering over Victoria. 

“Downers are to be apprehended, and Miss Byng, the constabulary has reason to believe you are a downer, and that means we are required to take you into the station!” Constable roared, pointing a deadly left index finger at her, before bringing up his truncheon in his other hand. THere was a wicked grin spread across his face, he could smell the blood coursing through her veins, and he yearned to spill it. Sergeant Armistead however turned back, and faced his comrade in arms, drawing a truncheon of his own, a deadly serious look on his now unmasked face, he was no longer a bobby of Wellington Wells constabulary, he was a man trying to do what he thought was best. 

“Need I remind you that I am your superior, in all regards, John?” 

“I believe it is strictly stated in the codex of Wellington Wells law, under section five, paragraph twelve, that if an officer who would be considered your superior is a suspected downer, he has the right to go on public holiday!” Constable Constable spouted, the wicked grin growing even wider, if possible, while he smacked his truncheon into the palm of his left hand repeatedly, drawing two steps closer to Armistead. Armistead did not back down however, he was a sergeant for a reason, and that reason was that he had sent twenty-three downers on holiday, some of them Ploughboys, and he stopped an estimated three collapses of life in Hamlyn village as it was known. Armistead spit on the ground before his opponent, and narrowed his eyes, before Victoria Byng stepped between them. 

“Sergeant! Constable! This is not helping anything, please, both of you, stand down!” 

“Miss Byng, you no longer hold any power here, you’re just a downer like the rest of them!” Constable shouted, about to hit her with his truncheon, before she whipped it right out of his hand, ad threw it away, rearing up to strike again, before he charged her, plowing her into the rubble, and toppling her, laughing in a hysterical, mad frenzy, about to start punching her wildly, before Armistead jumped on him, pulling him back with all his strength, spinning him round by his shoulders, and hitting him across the face as hard as he could, cringing while he did it. There was such a thwack Victoria was sure his head must’ve caved in. He was spun round by the force of the blow, knocked back, revealing to Victoria his cracked and broken mask, fragmented, and the blow surely would’ve killed him if not for the white visage, which he pulled off with just a little bit of effort, three pieces clattered to the ground. He sneered back at them. 

“Downers will not win! I swear it, as long as blood courses through my veins, you will have to watch your backs!” he shouted, stumbling back, into Miss Crawford’s little shop on the corner, presumably finding an escape route that way, and Sergeant Armistead chose not to follow him, instead he turned his attention to Victoria Byng, sitting amongst the rubble, her perfect coattails ripped up and dusted. He gave her a helping hand, and she got on her feet, bending down to pick up her bowler. 

“Thank you, Sergeant, now we must look for any survivors, we have to, there have to be survivors, right, so, we’ll stick together for now, it’s too dangerous to go out there alone.” 

“Yes, ma’am, i believe you are correct, wherever you lead, I’ll follow, but first I must check in on Miss Crawford, who runs that store,” he said, pointing to the little shop with its whole front smashed in, broken glass everywhere, and splinters of wood as well. 

“Yes, of course, Sergeant.” He walked slowly back to the shop entrance, looking at what was left of Haworth Laboratories, seeing far off in the distance, the barren home of Uskglass, what was left of the concrete foundation of the huge building, he saw a man, and he squinted, so as to see him better. The man had coiffed white hair, and glasses, cor blimey! It was Dr. Verloc. 

“Uh, Miss Byng, is that, Doctor Verloc?” She looked once, and then immediately after looked again, eyes wide. 

“Oh my god, how the hell did he survive that?” 

“I don’t rightly know, ma’am.” There was a loud noise all of a sudden, it was an engine! Verloc waved a little wave, and gave a cunning smile, as if to say, “you’ve yet to beat me!” He stepped off the holm! Then a few moments later, they saw him in a motorized boat, zooming away from the island, then curving suddenly, and disappearing into the fog. Sergeant Armistead simply had to shake it off, and kept walking briskly into Miss Crawford’s shop, finding her tapping her foot behind the counter. 

“So, have they told you anything about the remodeling?” she said, curiously. 

“Uh, no, ma’am, not much, just that it’ll take quite a while, i think it would be best if you came with Miss Byng and I, we’re going to have tea! Doesn’t that sound nice?” 

“Why, tea? With Victoria Byng? Huh, that does sound pleasant.” She stepped out from behind the counter, and took Sergeant Armistead’s hand as he led her through the wreckage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a good time writing this one, i definitely have some cool stuff planned for all the characters in this chapter. :)


	3. Ravensholm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The general announces a secret to the home army, and they are called to action.

The home army didn't exactly have any new recruits, the closest they came to it was Corporal Green, forty, the youngest among the soldiers of Ravensholm. He hadn't enlisted until after the Germans were gone, in 1948. He had a few years of medical school, but decided not to finish it for various reasons, and never became a doctor. But he was the only "medic" the home army had. He was sitting in his tent, on his bunk, drinking a cup of hot coffee, very pleasant on this cool autumn day, when the speaker came on, and his eyes darted to it from behind his mask, looking out of the tent, and up at a post, about twenty feet tall, where said speaker hung.  
"Attention all personnel, General Byng has called an emergency meeting in the drilling field. I repeat, all personnel, you are called to the drilling field, where General Byng has ordered an emergency meeting. I repeat, all soldiers, report to the drilling field, if all men in the camp are not gathered in the drilling field within three minutes, those who are absent shall be smacked across the head, and go without dinner for a week. Thank you." It was the voice of Sergeant Oldcastle, the general's pet, the general could tell Sergeant Oldcastle to cut off both his legs with a rusty bone-saw for his entertainment, and he would do it. Green got up from his bunk, put his coffee down on a bedside table, donned his raincoat, for it was misty out, and drizzling a bit. He exited his tent, which was in a sort of cul-de-sac, a semi circle with four other tents, the men in those were all out as well, wearing raincoats, and they formed a line, marching to the drilling field. On their way they came to the main dirt pathway, and found the rest of the home army marching along, and all joined in at the back, and they all formed a great big line of sixty-five or so men. Corporal Green was fifth from the rear, as he was the highest ranking man in his cul-de-sac, and the other men respected this by marching behind him. They got to the drilling fields, and lined up in a great row of sixty-five, in the muddy grassland, and faced the general, and Sergeant Oldcastle. The general had his hands clasped behind his back, and he was looking every man over, as though he were re-evaluating their usefulness.

"Alright men, I called you all here for a reason, and it is a very important reason-" he stopped talking, and looked directly at Private Cox, who had his right hand up, "yes?" 

"Is it to do with your eyepatch?" The general gave Cox a scowl that sent a shiver down every man's spine, even Sergeant Oldcastle, and the private shrunk down, wanting to kill himself. 

"There is something you should all know, the civilization of Hamlyn Village has collapsed, the food has run out, the people are in utter chaos, the doctors are all dead, and I do believe the constabulary is in disarray," the men were all shocked, some of them literally stumbled backwards, their mouths agape, "under normal circumstances I would ride out this storm, but we are also running out of food, I know where there is a decent amount in the Village, but I do not know if we can reach it, through the mess of violent downers. We may have to turn to the Garden District," the men all were shocked again, the Garden District? They hadn't been there in eleven years, since Joy was introduced, and the Garden District became a place of exile, "Sergeant Oldcastle, I need you to take the cream of the crop, your favorite four men, and go to the Village. My safe-," he stumbled over his words, not wanting to let down his appearance of generous leader in any way, "I know there is a large amount of food in a warehouse in St. George's holm, so you will have to travel through Maidenholm, I'm afraid. When you get there, expect the worst, don't hesitate to fight with tooth and nail to save what you can. The majority of food in this warehouse is V-meat, bit there are some other foods, there are also medical supplies, which I'm sure Green will be able to put to good use," Byng drew a piece of paper from his back pocket, rolled up, and unfurled it, revealing a map of the village, and showed it to Sergeant Oldcastle, it had a circled area where his safehouse was, though it didn't say that, "this is a map of Hamlyn Village, it won't let you down if you know how to use it, and you will need it, I have marked the place where you will find the supplies right here," he handed it to the sergeant, who delicately rolled it up and placed it in his pocket, "Corporal Green?" Green was alert at once, his eyes widening, and he jumped to attention, giving a high salute. 

"Yes, sir?" 

"You are promoted to doctor, as we need one, and you are the closest we've got. And I have a project for you, see, we need new men, we need to bulk up our force, and there are men at waiting at the bridge from Eel Pie to Ravensholm, trying to get in, there are a few of them lined up. I want you to let them in, one by one, examining them to make sure there is nothing physically wrong about them, if they are fine, then grab a spare uniform from the storage closet, and outfit them properly, as well as give them a rifle. I want at least ten men within the first week. Are you up to it?" 

"Yes, sir," Green replied immediately, knowing if he refused he'd be punished in some way. 

"Good, good. Alright, now, Sergeant Boggs," the general said, looking to another man in the row. 

"Yes, sir?" 

"You will need to take a group of men, three or four, whatever you please, to Hamlyn, your mission shall be to find Victoria, she is very useful to us, and it is far too dangerous to let her roam about in that downer-infested city, alright?" 

"Yes, sir, it would be an honor." 

"Alright, that's it for now. We meet here again in a fortnight, all of you, if any of the men who I have sent on a mission are not back by then, I will assume it was a failure, and thus, we will not send any more soldiers after you, am I understood?" Yes sirs rang throughout the field, along with every man, including Sergeant Oldcastle, saluting the general, which he let them do for a few moments, to humor himself, and then returned the salute, before they all put their arms down, and formed a line, marching back out of the field, and back to their places. Green and his subgroup branched off and walked the small trail to the little cul-de-sac, surrounded by greenery, and went back to his tent, before one of the men called to him, and he turned round. 

"We'll help with what the general ordered of you, whatever it is, the bridge is a dangerous place, you'll need our help," Private Snyder said, while the other three men bobbed their heads. Corporal, or Doctor Green knew these men for awhile, twelve years now, but he hadn't known they had such a fondness for him. 

"Thank you, lads, I'm very grateful for your assistance. I'm gonna get back to my coffee, we'll start in the morning, meet at the gate, seven o'clock tomorrow, alright?" The four of them saluted him, and a smile tugged at the corner of their lips. 

"Yes, sir!" He chuckled a bit before turning around and going into his tent, throwing his raincoat onto his bunk, and sitting down beside it, picking up his coffee, and gulping down the rest of it, looking at the map of England he had laid out on a flat-topped trunk at the foot of his bed, and thinking, what fresh new hell would the general put the men through this time? 

* * *

The general walked calmly back to his office, after all the men had returned to their places. He held a black umbrella over his head, as Sergeant Oldcastle followed behind him, barely taking his eyes off his commander, trying to read his emotions. When they got back to the general's office, he shook his umbrella outside, and then went in, putting it in his elephant-foot umbrella bucket, and walking over to his desk, clenching his fists, while Oldcastle stood silently in the corner, hands behind his back. "That girl, Sally Boyle! I'd bet good money she was the one who _took _the boat, it only could've been her, she wanted to runaway, she wanted to abandon the perfect life I had offered her, everything could've worked out so well! She could've created the new formula for Joy, and thrown out Verloc, and fixed everything, only she chose herself over her duty!" he yelled, grabbing a bottle on his desk, and throwing it at the wall, smashing it into four pieces, falling to the floor. Oldcastle's heart started beating faster and faster, it was only a matter of time before the general would finally decide he was tired of the man, and throw a glass bottle at his head. The general started pacing, "I'm going to find her, and that old sergeant, _Starkey _, even if I have to _swim _to get to the mainland, I'll do it, and when I find them, I'll lock them up, and I'll throw the key away! They ruined this perfect place that I built with my own sweat and blood! And I'm going to find that damn daughter of mine! Oldcastle, get the hell out of here, I don't want to see you until you've found that food, alright?" The general's face was red, and he was panting, regaining his breath from his rant.______

___"Yes, uh, if I dare ask, how shall I proceed, exactly, sir?"_ _ _

___"Go round up the men you're taking with you, and get them rifles with bayonets equipped, and a bit of hard-tac, if we have any left, to eat on the way. Then bring them back here, take the map of the Village with you, and you can take the underground system, there's a hatch in that back room, it'll take you right to the city."_ _ _

___"Yes, sir," Sergeant Oldcastle said, saluting, before the general returned the salute, and Oldcastle burst through the door, and closed it behind him firmly, squinting and looking up at the dreadful cloudless sky, with little droplets of rain flowing down his face. He needed his best men, and he intended to find them._ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me a couple days to get around to this one, but I had fun writing it! I expect I'll have the next chapter up in two or three days, it'll probably have something to do with the mainland. Thank you so much for reading, you have no idea how much it means. :)


	4. The Balloon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ollie crashes his balloon on the mainland, and finds some peculiar things.

It was midday, the sun high, overlooking old Britannia, as the old Scottish sergeant soared high above the structures of Wellington Wells, the town that had always damned him, or that he had always damned. His balloon was just now hovering over the bridge to the mainland, and he could see far below him a man on the bridge, he was halfway across to the mainland, Ollie had to look twice, he didn't remember the last time anyone had gone across that bridge. "Artie? Arthur Hastings?" he called, loud as he could, with his hands cupped to his mouth, but it seemed the man did not hear him, if he even was young Artie. Ollie closed his eyes and shook his head, as if to sift out the insanity in his brain. He sighed and looked across the bridge, he saw the checkpoint on the mainland side of the bridge, and squinted, making out some structure further inland, connected to the checkpoint by an old dirt road, that ran up a slight, infrequently forested hill. It led to a fortress, it wasn't the biggest fort the militiaman had seen in his life, but it was certainly something. It looked concrete, modern, like Haworth labs, a huge concrete blot on the earth. And then he saw it, the Union Jack. "Oh, mae lord," he said, quietly, taking a step back in the balloon, unused to the shifting tide of the air, and almost falling over. There it was, unblemished, he hadn't seen the Union Jack in twenty years. Salvation, civilization, friendship, family; these were all the thoughts the old red and blue brought rushing back into the man's mind, things he hadn't known for as long as he hadn't the stripes of the flag. He wiped a tear from his eye, and stopped himself from jumping out of the balloon, just to kiss the earth. "Aberdeen! I'm going to Aberdeen!" he yelled, happier than he'd ever been. It was as though he'd been pinching himself for so long he didn't remember what it was like not to be pinched, until that moment. He hadn't liked life much before, but now he loved and cherished it more than anything else in the world. Just then there was a whooshing sound, he looked back, sharply, and saw the flame had cut out, there wouldn't be any more hot air. "Ah, shite!" he yelled, his ecstasy turned to pain in a snap of the fingers. He picked up a wrench that laid in the basket of the balloon, and reared up, hitting the central unit of the craft as hard as he could. "Goddamn Robert Byng!" he had to blame someone. The balloon stayed about the same level as it was another minute or so, until it slowly started to drift down, but by then it was hovering above the lightly forested hill, near the road that lay between the checkpoint and the fort. the balloon was starting to descend rapidly now, he was only a hundred yards from the ground, then fifty, then it floated down to only five yards above the ground. The balloon, luckily, or unluckily enough, was coming to the ground right above a patch of trees, the basket snagged on one, and the whole thing tilted, and turned, and eventually pulled out of the tree, coming to land roughly on a patch of grass. He held on tightly to the side of the basket, and vaulted right over it when it landed, and took a deep breath, looking at everything around him. He stood on a grassy heath, the grass was all yellow, dead, but around him were some living trees, and he could see the top of that fortress over the trees, and the smile came back to him. If the fort had men in it, they would have some way of getting to Scotland, they had to have trucks, or something. He grabbed his pack, with all his food in it, and walked through the trees, and found the dirt road, looking both ways, and seeing, walking towards him from the bridge checkpoint, a melancholy man in a black suit, he had glasses on, and dark brown hair, tall, and lanky. "Oh, Saint George! Artie, Artie Hastings!" Arthur's face lit up, his eyes went wide, when he looked up from the ground and saw the Scotsman calling his name.

"Ollie?" He ran towards Ollie, using his long, slim legs to great effect, reaching Ollie in a few seconds, and hugging him. 

"Alright, alright, lad, how in the blue blazes did yae get here?" 

"I managed to fight my way through the Garden District, and sneak through the Village, and I got to the bridge, now I'm here." 

"I knew you would! I don't rightly know what lies ahead of us, but it can't be worse that what lay behind us, lad," the man put his hand on Arthur's shoulder, " It was high time we got out of there, we're cut from a different cloth than they are, we need to have freedom. And I know you're a better man than the rest of them, Artae." Arthur sighed. 

"I don't think either of us are good examples of men, Ollie, but maybe we still have some good in us." 

"Aye, you're a better man than General Byng, and Doctor Verloc, I know that for sure, but I'm not a good man." 

"Neither of us are good men, Ollie." 

"But I'm a bad man. I was General Byng's secretary, I... I got the paper to make the tanks, Artae! It was me, I'm just as bad as Robert Byng and Colonel Von Stauffenberg, you can blame me too." Arthur had suspected Ollie knew something about it, but he didn't know Ollie had got the paper for it. 

"I have to find him, I can't live on not knowing whether Percy is dead." Arthur started walking away from the Scotsman. 

"Wait, lad! What are you doing? You can't go to Germany, you can't, can you imagine what it's like there? If you thought Wellington Wells was bad. I just can't let you, Percival's likely dead! I didn't want to say it, but you know it. The only thing you'll accomplish is gettin' yourself killed. You will never make it up to him even if he is alive, you lost the chance to apologize a long time ago!" Arthur simply shook his head. 

"No, Percy won't have held a grudge against me, if he's alive, I'll find him, and the least I can do is say sorry, if he's dead, well, perhaps I don't want to live anymore. This world is fucked, I'm fucked!" 

"If yae got your heart set on it, then at least perhaps we can travel together for awhile, I'm going to Aberdeen, but I'll take you south if you want, to the channel." 

"I guess two of us is better than one," Arthur said, sadly, looking back at Ollie. 

"Alright then, we're off to the fort, that'll be our first stop, they'll have somethin' to tell us, then we'll go on, wherever your journey carries yae, I'll stick with yae, laddie." Arthur sighed, and looked away, nodding his head solemnly. 

"To the fort it is, in the Union Jack we put our trust once again, I guess," Arthur muttered. The men walked abreast, onward, needing all the hope they could muster, as they were not out of the thick of it yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having a great time writing the fic, next chapter will be more with Ollie and Arthur, and they're gonna meet some original characters. Might be up tomorrow, no promises ;)


	5. Ollie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ollie and Arthur go to the strange fortress on the mainland. They meet strange men, who are not on Joy, and who are planning to make an excursion to Wellington Wells.

Arthur topped the slight hill effortlessly, standing six-feet tall, looking straight ahead, at the huge concrete mass that stood fifty yards from him, while Ollie huffed and puffed behind him, just barely making it up the hill, grabbing onto a tree stump, and bending down, trying desperately to catch his breath.

"They have guards, two standing out in front that I can see," Arthur said, without looking away from the building. Ollie was just standing back up, and sighed, finally catching his breath. 

"Yae don't haf' to think of everyone here as a threat, laddie, I'm sure if they're real English army men they won't shoot us on first sight," Ollie said with a bit of a chuckle. The two guards standing in front of the building had rifles propped against their shoulders, and they wore tan uniforms and helmets. Arthur and Ollie started making their way up the road, and the guards appeared to spot them, pulling their rifles off their shoulders, not aiming at the men, but at the ground, showing that they were primed. Ollie smacked Arthur on the shoulder, getting his attention. "Let mae do the talking, I'm a military man, I know what to say to 'em." They were within six yards of the men, and Ollie gave a high salute. 

"Aye, hale! I'm Sergeant Oliver Starkey, and this here is mae friend, Mister..." he realized he didn't know Artie's last name, "Arthur, Mr. Arthur-" 

"Hastings, I'm Arthur Hastings." Both of the guards saluted as well, before Ollie let down his hand, and so did they. The first man who spoke had a Yorker accent. 

"Greetings, Sergeant Starkey, I'm Corporal Hudson, and he's Private Ledford. Sergeant, I would assume by your uniform you haven't been active for some time." 

"That assumption would be correct, Corporal Hudson. See, I came from a town down this hill, and across the bridge down there, called Wellington Wells, I served under Colonel Byng in the war, though I suppose that was before your time, laddie." 

"I've never heard of Wellington Wells, or a Colonel Byng, but I'll ask the Captain if you can speak with him." 

"Thank yae, Corporal." Corporal Hudson disappeared into the fort, through an archway, and then turned down a different direction in the courtyard, out of sight. Private Ledford stayed outside, rifle back on his shoulder. After a few moments Corporal Hudson appeared back through the archway, and beckoned with his head for Ollie and Arthur to come inside, and they followed. After they got through the archway, they were in a courtyard, with some plants growing in it. After walking through the courtyard and turning, they came to a gate, a giant wooden gate, that could not have been opened by just strength of the arm. Hudson knocked on the door, then a man from inside operated a contraption, and opened it, outward, and revealed inside was a crew of ten men or so, all armed with rifles, propped upon their shoulders, and there was the man who'd opened the gate, standing close to them, he had pulled out a bar that was stuck between the doors, to keep them from opening. 

"Corporal Hudson, who are these men?" he asked. 

"This here is Sergeant Starkey, and his good friend Arthur Hastings, Sergeant Starkey said he served under a Colonel Byng during the war, in Wellington Wells." The gatekeeper nodded, moving out of the way, and presenting his hand, telling them they were free to go in. 

"The Captain is in his chambers, turn right down that hallway, then walk to the door dead ahead." 

"Thank yae very much, you're good men," Ollie said, bowing his head. This was the nicest Arthur had ever seen him act. The two men continued on to the captain's door, seeing it where they said it should be, and Ollie knocked on it, three raps. 

"Come in," came a voice without an English accent. Ollie entered first, behind him Arthur. They found a man at a wooden desk, polished, and very nice looking, he had some papers in front of him, and a pencil in his hand. A tan colored hat, something an officer of the British Army would wear sat next to his papers on his desk, and he wore a similarly colored uniform, with three pips round the collar, indeed a captain. He was a plump black man, with a wide, large-pored face, and a bald head. He looked up at them with stark brown eyes, revealing a black-grayish mustache that protruded from his upper lip, a serious frown on his face. 

"And who are you?" Ollie placed the accent, he sounded Afrikaner, though Ollie had known few men from South Africa, it was a very distinct accent. 

"I'm uh, Sergeant Starkey, and this is mae good friend, Mister Arthur Hastings. I am retired, but served under Colonel Byng during the war, and a good few years after, and I'm trying to get to Aberdeen, mae hometown." At the mention of Byng, the man's head tilted to the side, and he furrowed his brow in confusion. 

"Colonel Robert Byng?" 

"Yes, he calls himself General now. He surrendered to the Jerries, and made the people of that town across the bridge submit to the authority of Colonel Von Stauffenberg, and he had a pill created, Joy, which is supposed to make everyone happy, that didn't quite work out, I don't know what's happening there now." The man stood straight up, a stern look on his face. He was very tall, probably around 6'6", and he was large, strong looking, probably over 250 pounds. 

"I served under the man in India for a year, a cruel man most o the time, and a poor Commander, he had his wife imprisoned just to get that rank. I came back to England in 1940, when the war began. After we beat back the Germans, I was stationed out here, but I never knew he was just across that bridge, in fact I never knew what in hell might be over there, but thank you for the intelligence, Sergeant, I shall surely send my men in there." 

"Well, I commend you in your mission, Captain. I served under him as sergeant, and secretary, he was a bastard at times, though he could be cunning. Anyway, like I said, I'm trying to get back to Aberdeen, and mae boy here is trying to get to Germany, so could you help us?" 

"Germany? Why the hell would you want to go to Germany?" 

"My brother, he was taken during the occupation, taken to Germany, I want to try and find him." The captain shrugged. 

"I suppose I can help you both, we only have one truck, but we do have a few motorbikes, if you two wanted them, I suppose we could spare two, you did serve after all, Sergeant." 

"Thank yae very kindly, Captain, we'll be on our way." 

"Wait, could you tell me what to expect when me and my men cross that bridge?" 

"When you cross the bridge, you'll come to the island known as the Parade district, it'll be utter chaos, you'll find bobbies roaming around, there are probably a hundred of 'em, you'll have to look out for them, and there might be doctors as well, doctors who employ chemical warfare to control the citizens. Past you go through there, and you'll come to St. George's holm, another bridge and you'll come to Maidenholm, another bridge and you'll get to Eel Pie holm, you're no longer in the citae, you'll be in the garden district, with wastrels wanderin' about, another bridge and you'll get to Ravensholm, the island with the Victory Memorial Camp, that's where the general is stationed," Ollie said. The captain nodded, solemnly. 

"Alright, thank you, I will take my hundred-and-twenty soldiers, and I shall do my best to bring order to the place." Ollie saluted. 

"Captain!" 

"Sergeant!" the Captain said, returning the salute, before Ollie and Arthur left, smiling and nodding at the soldiers garrisoning the place, and then left the building, led by Corporal Hudson to the back of the place, where there was a garage, with three motorbikes in it, along with a large truck, Ollie and Arthur both mounted the bikes, Ollie had ridden one a few times during his service, but Arthur was incredibly unsteady. Hudson schooled him shortly on the mechanics of it, and stood out of the way, saluting them as they revved up their engines, and drove slowly out of the garage. 

"Sergeant Starkey! I surely hope you will have good fortune in your endeavors, and stay frosty!" Ollie saluted him, almost not wanting to go, to leave the place where he'd lived for the past thirty years of his life, but they both had to go eventually, and once they did, they didn't look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We might not see anymore of Ollie and Arthur for awhile, but next chapter will back in Wellington Wells, probably with Sergeant Armistead and Victoria Byng. It'll be up in two or three days :)  
> Update: Sorry about not posting yesterday or the day before, I was really busy, but tomorrow I'm really gonna crack down, thanks for reading!


	6. St. George's Holm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A confrontation between the major forces of Wellington Wells awaits Victoria and Sergeant Armistead.

They rounded the corner of Harker and Reading street, and saw, down the rainbow paved road, horror. Bobbies had been hanged from buildings, and Wellies had beat each other to death, bodies strewn about, some of them torn up, and burned. There had been a fire recently, as evidenced by the burned buildings and bodies. Armistead stopped in his tracks, and put his arm out, to shield Miss Crawford, whose Joy was just wearing off, she was bent over, vomiting her guts out. Victoria stepped out in front of him, and also stopped, taking in the massacre. A man opened the door of one of the buildings on the street, and peaked his head out. He had a mask, with a brown mustache, and he wore an apron.

"Lionel? Lionel Castershire?" Victoria asked, stepping forward. He jumped backwards, surprised to see Victoria without her mask on. 

"Miss Byng? Sergeant? Miss Crawford? What's been happening round here, do you know by any chance?" 

"Lionel, did you hear Uncle Jack's last broadcast?" Victoria asked. 

"Uh, I don't think so, why, was it good?" 

"He actually said we should all stop taking Joy until the new flavor comes out, as it's going to be very tasty, and won't work as well if you've taken any other kind of Joy recently," Victoria said, stepping towards him. 

"Is Coconut really going to be available?" 

"Yes, Doctor Verloc has just been perfecting it, you see, because they didn't want it to have any flaws, that's why it's taken so long to come out, you see." 

"Yes, yes. Alright, why don't you have your mask on? And nor do you, Sergeant." 

"You know, Uncle Jack also said to throw out our old masks, because they were going to come out with new ones, much better you see, and these ones have actually been hurting our faces ever so slightly all along." The man of course was very gullible, on Joy or off it, and so he furrowed his brow, taking a moment or two, then pulled off his mask and threw it to the ground. 

"If Uncle Jack says so, they mustn't be good." Victoria nodded. Miss Crawford also threw off her mask, just coming out of withdrawals, seemingly gone downer. 

"Lionel, you really should come with us, we're going to my house to have tea, how does that sound?" Victoria asked, luring him out. 

"You know, today's business has been rather slow, I suppose I could take a break," Lionel said, taking his apron off, and throwing it inside the shop. He came back out, closed the door, and locked it up, walking over to the party of Wellingtonians, and joining them. They kept on, walking through the mess of knocked over mood booths, dead bodies, and burned remains of who knows what. Armistead didn't know where they were going exactly, but he trusted in Victoria's guidance. After thirty minutes or so, they crossed the bridge to Maidenholm, and Armistead decided he would talk to Victoria behind the others, to ask where they were going. 

"Miss Byng?" 

"What?" 

"I must admit I don't know how to get out of Wellington Wells, it's been many years since I went to the Garden District, or anywhere beside St. George's holm." 

"Well, I figure the bridge to the mainland won't be a good way to get of here, so we're going to the Garden District, and-" she stopped talking, seeing at the end of the street Sergeant Oldcastle, the general's pet, along with four other soldiers, all armed with rifles with bayonets, aimed at Lionel Castershire and Miss Crawford. Victoria and Armistead ran toward them immediately. They fanned out, blocking the exit to the street. Victoria drew her whip, and approached Lionel. 

"Finally, some soldiers, some men who will have sense, lovely day for it, isn't it?" Lionel said. Oldcastle smiled, and walked closer to him, keeping his rifle up. 

"Mister Castershire, please step away, my company and I are only interested in taking Miss Byng to tea." Lionel stepped out of the way, before Victoria grabbed him by the shoulder with her left hand, and pulled back. 

"Lionel, I want to play a fun game with these men, we're going to run away from them as fast as we can, pretend your life depends on it, alright?" Lionel nodded, and turned away, running as fast as he could, finding, at the other end of the street, Sergeant Armistead, with Miss Crawford at his back, staring down five black bobbies, blocking the other exit to the street. Victoria and Armistead both looked back at the same time, seeing each other, and cursing to themselves. It was four against ten, what the hell were they going to do now? The bobbies were headed by Constable Constable. Victoria lashed her whip, and hit Sergeant Armistead in the leg, causing him to jump away, before his face turned into a sneer, and he charged her with his bayonet. She lashed out again, and hit him across both legs, as hard as she could, causing him to fall over, and hit the ground before her. She lashed at his head, just missing him. Another one of them threw a banger, which exploded just before her feet, blinding Sergeant Oldcastle, and knocking her on her feet. Before she could get up, she heard something behind her, and looked back, seeing, behind Constable Constable, a force, had to be over a hundred. Soldiers, soldiers with guns, and outfits that didn't seem to belong in Wellington Wells, as some of them were under forty. They started shooting, and hit all the black bobbies, except Constable Constable, who dove out of the way, and ducked into a shop off the street. Armistead threw down his truncheon and fell to the ground, trying to avoid being shot. Miss Crawford did the same. Victoria stayed on the ground, and crawled toward the soldiers. Lionel cried out in pain, and Victoria looked back, seeing he had been stabbed in the back with a bayonet, and he fell to the ground. Sergeant Oldcastle stayed down, but his men weren't as clever. Another hail of gunfire came, and none of the home army men were left standing. A deep, commanding voice rang out. 

"I am Captain Edwardson, of the British Army, and I declare this archipelago to be under English rule. All these islands are now part of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Now, everyone who isn't dead, lay down your arms!" Victoria looked back, and saw Sergeant Oldcastle put down his rifle, he was smarter than to get shot over holding onto his weapon. Another group came rushing through the end of the street opposite to Captain Edwardson's company. Sergeant Boggs, with four other home army lads, and behind him, a group of six Ploughboys, all had either knives, broken bottles, or cricket bats, ready to beat some downers. The now allied Ploughboys and home army lads were prepared to charge down the street, when Oldcastle threw up his hand, still prone. 

"Sergeant Boggs, I command you to get on the ground, and lay down your arms!" Oldcastle yelled, causing Boggs to do so promptly, and then his men did. The ploughboys weren't so smart, the whole half-dozen of them charging ahead full speed, all of them were mowed down before they got halfway down the street. Captain Edwardson stepped out in front of his troop, and walked forward down the street, looking for anyone alive. He kicked the body of Sergeant Armistead, who lifted his head. 

"And who are you?" 

"Uh, Sergeant Armistead, sir, Wellington Wells constabulary." 

"And you are not opposed to my troops?" Armistead shook his head, "get up then." Edwardson kept walking, and put out his hand to help Miss Crawford up, which she took, and then thanked him, walking towards his men. He came to Victoria. "Miss?" 

"Miss Byng, Victoria Byng." He furrowed his brow, and she looked up at him. 

"As in Colonel Robert Byng?" 

"I'm his daughter. But I am not in league with him, I can assure you that, the man is a coward." 

"Yes, yes he is, well here," he said, offering her his hand, which she took, getting up, righting her bowler, and dusting herself off. She looked back, and saw old Lionel lying on the ground, looking up, a large stab wound in his back. "Who are you?" the captain asked. 

"I'm Lionel Castershire, Captain, oh, I don't feel too well." The captain looked back to Victoria. 

"Does he have any diseases?" 

"No, not that I know of, but I suspect he is in withdrawal from Joy, it's a drug we have, invented in 1953, by Harold Haworth and Anton Verloc, it kept everyone happy for a long time, but it also made them forget, and they ran out of food some time ago, we didn't grow any, and we didn't trade with anyone for anything. Yesterday I stopped Joy distribution to the whole city, and thus it brought forth a collapse of everything." Captain Edwardson nodded, giving Lionel his hand, and helping him to stand, before the shopkeeper vomited his guts out. 

"Miss Byng, Sergeant Armistead, can you make sure Mister Castershire and Miss Crawford get back safely, I'm going to look down the street." Victoria and Armistead nodded, and turned round, walking back to the rest of Captain Edwardson's company, who all were starting to walk forward slowly, unsure of what to do with their rifles. Edwardson lifted his rifle, pointing it at Sergeant Oldcastle. "And who the hell are you?" 

"Sergeant Oldcastle, employed under General Byng, stationed in the Victory Memorial Camp. And you can put your goddamn rifle down!" 

"Sergeant Oldcastle, you shall not speak to me like that if you do not want to get shot, get up," Edwardson moved on, to Sergeant Boggs, he only motioned to the man with his rifle. 

"Sergeant Boggs, also stationed at Victory Memorial Camp, under General Byng." 

"Get up then," Edwardson said, moving on, motioning for all the other military men to get up as well, which they did. The whole band of them all walked back down the street, toward Captain Edwardson's company. They all mingled in, with a group of sixty British Army men in the front, and sixty in the back, with Victoria, Sergeant Armistead, and all the home army lads sandwiched in between. "Alright men, were going to split up, forty of you take this rowdy bunch back to the mainland, and the other eighty will continue onwards. Miss Byng, would you do the honor of leading us, we're going to find your father." 

"Captain, if I'm not being rude, I don't believe eighty men will be enough to win a battle against my father's men. He doesn't have more than seventy, but that will leave your force in pieces, and on the return trip, I would expect you will have to face what's left of the constabulary, as well as some more of those Ploughboys." Captain Edwardson nodded. 

"I suppose you're correct. Sergeant DeVille, let Sergeant Oldcastle and Sergeant Boggs go, let them fend for themselves, if they cause any more problem for us, we'll kill them, we shall face General Byng with our full force, one-hundred-and-twenty men, we'll crush those bastards!" Captain Edwardson shook his rifle, only adding more emotion to his speech. 

"Yes, sir," Sergeant DeVille said, and his fifty men all reshuffled into the rest of the company; Deville was as to Edwardson as Oldcastle was to Byng. Sergeant Oldcastle and Boggs and the other home army men all went off their way, sulking. Victoria and Sergeant Armistead both stood abreast, in front of the company of 120 men, and were tasked with guiding them. Neither one had any idea what the coming hours would bring.  
Meanwhile, the General sat, brooding in his chair, watching the rain outside, an unrelenting drizzle. It was midday, though not bright out. He had a bottle of scotch in front of him, and he poured out another glass. He downed it, and then, cringed, he'd always liked Brandy better, but they didn't have any of that left. He was wondering what had become of his faithful sergeant, though it had only been one day, he almost wanted to go after them, into the city, but he decided he wouldn't, it would just be stupid. A knock at his door came suddenly, and he nearly jumped out of his skin, dropping the glass, it landed sideways on the desk, and cracked, but didn't shatter. 

"Dammit!" he swore to himself, "come in!" a man came in the door, not anyone the general could've picked out in particular, but one of his soldiers. 

"Uh, General, sir," the man said, saluting. The general stood, and saluted him in return, " Private Pearson, I'm with Corporal Green, sir, and I just wanted to report back on how it's been going, at the bridge, General, there's a constable, he says he has something urgent to say to you." General Byng was at once confused, he hadn't seen a boby in the Garden District in ten years. 

"Well, yes, let him in then, bring him here, I suppose I shall pour him a glass of Scotch."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: 1/12/20  
> Hello all, I know I promised to have the next chapter up in the next two weeks, and I was working on it, then I lost a good bit of what I had done, which was quite infuriating. Life has also been pretty hectic, having a loved one in and out of the hospital. So, I'm going to be more lax, might upload once a week or twice a week, or every other week, or once a month. I just felt obligated to announce that, and I hope I'm not seriously letting anyone down. Thank you so much to everyone reading this, and remember to turn that frown upside down!


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